


Nobody's Perfect... But You Might Be

by failufail



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failufail/pseuds/failufail
Summary: A down and out Antichrist goes to the Church of Satan hoping for guidance. He finds you instead.Alternate storyline to Episode 8, Season 8: Sojourn.





	Nobody's Perfect... But You Might Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything for the AHS fandom, and my first time writing anything Michael Langdon. Hopefully, I did his character some justice. I absolutely love his character development, but I am not all too pleased with how he's being used as a puppet by those "two coked out nerds." So, here's my take on that episode where instead of meeting Madelyn at the church, he meets you. Right now, "you" could be treated as M or F. Your choice.
> 
> There is a second part to this, and it's being worked on. (Unfortunately I have adulting to do and can't write a whole lot during the week, so patience is a virtue.)
> 
> I'm still toying with expanding the idea for this story. It would end up being a whole rewrite of the rest of the season (which could be easy, considering the end of the season is nigh).

The door opening to the church was a welcome distraction as you listed to Hannah ranting about how the congregation wasn’t evil enough. You did your part—and yet you sat there getting reprimanded like a child.

You were mid-eye roll when you heard the doors open. Your head turned to the noise behind you and you saw… potential. Sure, he was scruffy and looked like he’d been through hell. New blood always came in like that—desperate for something—guidance, a sliver of some sort of belonging. You watched as he took a seat in the pew across from you, then turned your head back to continue listening to Hannah.

Later on, as the offering basket was being passed around, you threw a fifty in and stood up to hand it to the newcomer.

“I’m sorry I…” His voice trailed off as he did a double-take before his eyes finally settled on you.

You were met with large, bright blue eyes. There was something akin to wonderment in his expression. Aside from his disheveled appearance, he really was quite handsome. Nothing a bath and shave (and a new set of clothes) couldn’t fix.

You nudged the basket into his hand and smiled.

“I don’t have any money right now,” he said solemnly, his eyes swimming with the remnants of tears.

There was part of you that kind of felt bad for the guy, and wondered what had happened to reduce him to tears at a service in the Church of Satan. You took the basket back and handed it to the person in front of you. 

Against your better judgement you crouched down, peered up at him and said, “You look like shit. When was the last time you ate?”

He looked away from you, his previous expression fading to that of disgust. “What’s it to you?”

It sounded like he’d given up on the world around him. You tilted your head to the side. “Concern for a fellow believer, you could say.” The next words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could think to stop them. “Listen, I only live a few blocks away. I could get you something, and get you cleaned up.”

He looked back at you, his stunning clear blue eyes looking into yours again. “That’s actually really nice of you.”

You shrugged and offered him a grin. “Nobody’s perfect,” you said as you stood back up. “Meet me at the end of the service.”

—————

From the moment Michael looked up and saw your face, he felt like there was something special about you. As lost as he was, something (or maybe it was his Father after all) led him to that church, and he found you.

True to your word, you took him to your apartment. It wasn’t a very far walk, and most of it was silent. He stole glances at you from time to time, wondering why you decided to help him. Not to mention, he thought you were beautiful; beautiful enough to garner his attention without saying a word.

And, you were nice to him. There wasn’t enough of that lately. There were so many expectations sought out by so many that knew who he was in the recent past, that it was tough to filter out the ones who truly cared. The one, true person he could always count on was dead… burned at the stake by those awful witches.

The thought made his eyes burn once again, but he wasn’t going to let any more tears fall.

He was surprised to find that you lived pretty well-off in a safer, posh neighborhood. A few numbers punched into a security system gained the two of you entrance into a stylish loft apartment.

“Food or shower first?” you asked, setting your belongings down on a counter. “I could probably dig up something for you to wear while I get your clothes cleaned.”

Your hand came up to dust off some of the dirt on his shoulder.

Michael stiffened a bit at your touch, glancing at your hand and then back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all up in your space,” you apologized, your hand returning to your side.

“No, I just didn’t expect it, that’s all,” he responded casually. There was an awkward pause as he glanced around the apartment. “I think I’ll take the shower, if you don’t mind.”

“Then follow me.” You lead him to the bathroom, where you turned on the shower and grabbed a clean towel for him. “Hope you don’t take quick showers. Might take me a minute to find you those clothes…”

“With this mess on my head…” He pointed to the not-so-golden, and caked-with-dirt locks on his head. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about anything quick.”

His comment made you laugh, and Michael decided that he really liked that sound.

And your smile, too.

—————

It was a minor challenge, but you knew you had clothes lying around in a box somewhere in your closet that might actually fit him. After a few minutes of shuffling around, you managed to find it and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Not exactly the what-would-have-been-considered-stylish outfit the guy had on, but it would have to do for now.

You waited until you heard the water stop running, and knocked on the door. “I found some clothes,” you called in.

A minute later, he opened the door.

Again, you immediately met his mesmerizing blue eyes. His wet hair was slicked back for the moment, and you noticed that he had a lovely lean and muscular frame. You felt heat rise to your cheeks. The droplets of water beading on his skin didn’t help the matter.

“H-here,” you stuttered out in an exhale and handed him the clothes. “I’ll… be in the kitchen.”

With that, you turned around and quickly made your exit to the kitchen.

You pulled open the door of the fridge, half looking for whatever food you had, and the other half hoping to cool off your flush and flustered self off. The current situation didn’t really surprise you, though. Yeah, the guy was handsome… okay, he was hot. Kind of caught you off-guard, really. Showers were magic, you decided.

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and scanned the fridge. Unfortunately, you had that kind of week again—sitting in front of your workspace making sure operations were running smoothly, and closing deals on your high-ticket items. Your fridge was on the emptier side: water, some apples, and leftover Chinese food from the previous night.

Chinese it was, then.

—————

Michael looked at his reflection in the mirror. The shower only did so much as to clean off the filth, and give his tired body a break. It didn’t do much to cleanse his mind, or his soul. Everything he had been working for was lost, and his Father refused to guide him.

“Why have you forsaken me?” he mumbled to his reflection.

With a sigh, he threw on the clothes you gave him (a little bit on the looser side, but he wasn’t going to complain) and looked in the mirror once more. He decided he could use a shave, too, but you were already nice enough—finding clothes and feeding him.

The smell of food had him padding out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. You were transferring what looked like lo mein onto a plate, and then licking off the extra sauce off your fingers. It was cute, he mused to himself.

Michael cleared his throat to get your attention, and you turned.

“Sit, eat,” you said, gesturing to counter and placing the plate down. “It’s not really five-star restaurant eats, but it’s still good.”

He did as he was told, and it didn’t matter what kind of food it was in front of him, he dug right in.

After a few bites, he heard you ask, “So… what’s your name?”

“Michael.”

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of people like you come into the church—at the end of their rope, hitting rock-bottom, searching for answers,” you said, and he slowed his eating pace to listen further. “So, what’s your deal? How’d you end up alone and at our doorstep?”

Michael let out a small chuckle. “My dad abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me.”

He didn’t miss the momentary surprise on your face. “That just proves that humanity… is shit,” you mused thoughtfully, letting out a sigh and a shrug before continuing with, “Once you accept it, it makes things easier, really. My situation wasn’t all that different from yours. Broken home, bad decisions, ended up at a real shitty point in my life.”

You walked around the counter and took a seat next to him. “Came to the church, and while no one was as nice to me as I’m being to you right now, I learned pretty quick what the deal was,” you explained. “Satanism,” you continued, “is about giving into your urges, embracing sin, your true nature. It’s so much easier than trying to uphold that ‘good person’ bullshit. As soon as you take the dive—everything, it gets better.”

The last little bit made Michael smile, and the faith that you had in his Father… well, it was oddly heartwarming.

“I sold my soul to Satan,” you said simply. “Everything I have now, I owe to him.”

Michael leaned in, interested. “Sold your soul? Did you sign a contract in blood?”

You rolled your eyes at his question, but then leaned in to meet his gaze, almost as if challenging him. “Don’t be silly. A good old Black Mass is all it takes. The more bodies that pile up, the more I get in return. You didn’t actually think that all this,” you waved your hand around the room, “was the product of years of hard work, did you?”

_So you’ve killed others as well_ , Michael thought to himself. You were interesting; the whole congregation was. Maybe, just maybe, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe, this was where he could belong and become what he was always meant to be.

You stood up and walked back to the other side of the counter again, and his gaze followed you. “All He asks in return is for us to pave the way for His second coming—the one who will bring the beginning of the end.”

Michael chuckled darkly. Your seemingly unshakable faith was showing again, but now he felt inadequate, not worthy of the praise, a disappointment that he was the one you were waiting for.

“And what exactly are you doing to pitch in? To ‘pave the way’ as you say?” Michael asked. He really was curious.

You placed your finger to your smirking lips. “I don’t share my secrets with just anyone.”

There was a momentary silence. He wasn't sure if you were waiting for him to let your words sink in, or if you were waiting for an actual response. He decided on the latter and slowly returned your smirk, took a breath and said, “And if the one you’ve been waiting for… is me?”

He watched as your smirk faded and turned straight to a grimace. You walked around the counter again, this time stopping to stand in front of him, your hand swiftly coming up to grip around his neck. Michael gasped, air failing to fill his lungs, and stunned at your strength.

“Don’t mock what you don’t understand,” you said, anger seething from your words, and your grip tightening.

“Before… you kill me,” Michael choked out, “...see me.” He turned his head to the side as far as he could, his hand coming up to move the hair from the side of his head.

A small “666” was marked right behind his ear.

Your eyes widened and released him immediately, backing away, taking a knee, and bowing your head. “Please forgive me, I…”

It only took a moment for Michael to recover. He got up and made his way to you, taking your hand and standing you up to face him. If there was anything he didn't want, it was you to bow down to him. Right now, he didn't feel like he deserved it. “Don’t apologize. I’m not… much of anything right now. I’m lost. I ended up at the church because I needed guidance, because I thought…”

You looked at him expectantly. There was an awestruck reverence in your eyes, he noticed. That really wasn’t what he needed right now, and it made him frown.

“I thought I might find answers,” he finished, looking away. He felt helpless. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. You—and everyone—they’ll expect me to do something, but I don’t know what that is.”

The expression on your face softened and you offered him a smile. “We all get lost sometimes. Maybe you just need some affirmation.”

“I don’t know about you, but that lady leading the service didn’t give me much affirmation of anything.”

That made you chuckle. “Oh, Hannah? She’s all about the theatrics and getting everyone in line. It does help reign the newbies in, though.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Look, there’s going to be an offering in a couple days,” you told him. “I think that you should come, and let the congregation know who you are. Maybe then you’ll get the affirmation you need—not just from me, but from everyone.”

He felt you squeeze his hand for just a moment, but then you let go. He didn’t miss the flash of excitement in your eyes, either.

“You can stay here, until you… you know, figure things out.”

Michael liked that idea. Besides the fact that he didn’t have anywhere to go right now, he actually wanted to know more about you. There was something about you that pulled him to you, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was. You didn’t give the motherly vibe that his beloved Ms. Meade did, or the impressed “I’m-going-to-put-you-on-a-pedestal” vibe that the warlocks did. You certainly weren’t degrading like those witches were, either.

Right now, Michael was just fond of you.

“Thanks.” He let out an exhale of relief; one that he felt like he had been holding in for days. “Except—you haven’t told me your name yet.”

That smile he was especially growing fond of graced your face again before you answered him. “Oh. It’s Y/N.”


End file.
